by Elise Kova
I purse my lips.
“That’s a no.” Helen seems amused by this revelation. “So he is as hideous as we expected. You couldn’t even muster up the courage.”
“It’s not— He’s not.”
“Then why did he not greet us? A bit strange for a lord of the manor not to greet his guests.”
“He’s busy during the days. And you are not normal guests, you’re kin. He knew I could handle the formalities.” I’ve been wondering what he thinks of this meeting. My Lord Fenwood doesn’t seem like the sort who enjoys unexpected houseguests.
“There is no reason why a man of sound mind and body would not take his new bride to bed, even with as merely passable looking as you are.” Helen says it as though the fact should be obvious. As if I am a foolish woman for not realizing it myself.
“Perhaps such things are not his priority.” I shift, sitting a little taller. I might have started to wonder if, or when, he would take me to bed…but I rarely let those thoughts out of their vault in the corner of my mind during daylight hours. Those are for enjoyment during the quiet hours of the late night only.
“What is his priority then?” Laura asks.
“His work.”
“Oh? Tell us about that?” She smiles as she deftly shifts the conversation, much to my relief. My little ally, even still.
“He’s a hunter.” And that is all they will know of my husband’s true profession.
Helen snorts. “No hunter catches enough game to afford land like this. I’m sure hunting is an excuse and he’s sneaking off at night to some other woman. He’s made his fortune and now plays the field.”
I think of the noises, of the rules, of the mysterious tower and whole other wing of the house that I’ve never explored or even questioned. What if he does have another woman over there? One woman by day, and one by night? I bite my lip.
Helen reaches forward to pat my knee. I almost kick her in her button nose. “There, there, many women have unfaithful husbands. But you must give him an heir to his fortunes, and quickly, if you wish to stay relevant to him. Otherwise he could put you out on the street without a second thought.”
“Don’t you think he’s hideous? If he’s so horrible looking, enough to bargain for a wife, then how could he ever get a lover?” She’s trying to break me down. Mess with me. Tear me apart. I don’t want to let her, but the frustrating thing is she’s had years to hone this skill—Joyce no doubt prepared her for this. She knows exactly what tears me down and what buttons of mine to push.
“His home is so close to the woods. He must be a hunter,” Laura interjects. “And there must be rare game somewhere the woods are this thick and old.” She leans in, eyes shining. “Maybe he hunts the fae.”
I nearly spit up my mead and instead force a laugh. “A fae hunter? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I could imagine he must look positively dashing, all dressed for the hunt.” Laura brings the back of her hand to her forehead and swoons. I busy my mouth with another sip of mead.
Helen tilts her head. She’s inspecting me. I hate it when she does this. She’s able to put together things that no one else would see.
“You say he’s handsome…and yet you seem to doubt that. You proffer no proof, no detailed explanations of how fine he is, not even a mention of your favorite feature of him…” She hums. “You haven’t even seen him, have you?”
I open my mouth and wordlessly close it, pressing my lips into a scowl. This skill of hers has been my nemesis for ages.
Laura gasps at my silence. “Is that true? Have you even met your husband?”
“I have.” This is exactly why I didn’t want them to come. I knew they would find out the strange truths of my new arrangement. I knew they would use it against me even though I am the one in the lap of luxury. I have the husband they so desired. I have safety, security, and freedoms. Yet Joyce’s specter lingers over them, telling me that I have nothing.
“Then how could you not know…” Laura seems genuinely confused.
“We’ve only spoken when I couldn’t lay eyes on him.”
Helen sighs and shakes her head sadly. “It is a shame to see your weaknesses and inferior intellect so taken advantage of. This is why we had to protect you and keep you so close to home, Katria. If we ever let you out freely, we knew this would happen.”
My blood boils. I’m used to their jabs against me. But now they disparage the man that saved my life. They try and turn me against the one person who has not brought harm or malice toward me.
“I am not taken advantage of. I don’t know how you could possibly think it.” I motion around us. “I want for nothing. Anything I desire, if I name it, I shall have it. My husband is kind, respectful, and gentle. You should dream of a man like him.” Because a man like him would be far better than you deserve, I wish I could say aloud to her.
“And yet he refused to give you the decency of looking you in the eye when he first met you,” Helen says.
“Katria, you know I want to find this all deeply romantic…but this isn’t a storybook.” Laura grabs my hands. “It is strange he will not let you see him.”
“He’s not harmful.”
“Moreover, you don’t know where his wealth comes from.” Helen sighs. “Think about this logically, we’re just trying to help. There’s no way he affords all of this from hunting alone. He demanded only a book as your dowry. What if he’s engaged in some strange, illegal, back-channel markets?”
I know she’s not trying to help. Yet…Helen has a point, both of them do, for all I hate to admit it. If my husband is a fae hunter, as I suspect, then who does he sell his game to? Who pays him for the kills? And if he does it purely for the sake of goodness, and ridding the world of those beasts, how has he or does he make his money?
They’re all questions I don’t have the answers to. I wish I did. Because in the void of an explanation, doubt is now taking root.
“I’m worried about you,” Helen says.
“You have never been worried about me,” I snap. “All my life, you stepped on me.” Helen has the audacity to gasp, as if offended. “You turned me into your servant.”
“To protect you from the world. To ready you for it by hardening you. And you’re deflecting.” Helen wields her words like daggers, knowing just where to strike. “This isn’t about us anymore. If we were so horrible, then congratulations, you escaped us.” Helen wears a thin smile, slightly smug. She knows just how horrible she was, that expression admits it. But she’s also right, it doesn’t matter how they treated me anymore, I’m free of them. I clutch Laura’s hands a little tighter and hope she knows she’s exempt from these harsh truths. “If you want to stay escaped, you should make sure you’re secure in your new home.”
“Is that a threat?” I say.
Helen laughs. “I have no control over you, your marriage, or your new life. All I’m saying is, if your husband is engaged in something illegal and is thrown in irons, you could face destitution or be forced to share in his fate as a co-conspirator. If your husband is dallying with another woman, and decides to replace you with her, then you will be out on the street. If your husband throws his wealth around and wastes it, you will find yourself in a similar position as before…and you know what that position will be?”
My stomach churns. I know where she’s headed with this. Yet she says it anyway.
“You will have to come crawling right back to us,” Helen proclaims as she rises to her feet, lording over me as she always did whenever Joyce wasn’t around to do it herself. She’s a spitting image of her mother. “So if you don’t want that to happen, you should heed my warnings. Make yourself useful to your husband. Know the circumstances you now find yourself in. Be cunning. That’s always been your problem; you never think two steps ahead and it makes you so easy to use.” Helen looks to Laura. “We’re leaving now.”
“But we just got here.” Laura clings to me. “Can’t we at least stay the night?”
“I am not staying
in this strange place with her strange husband.”
“Perhaps Oren could bring you back tomorrow?” I suggest to Laura, ignoring the instant guilt I feel for volunteering Oren without asking. But I’ve done my level best to impose on him as little as possible. And I will make all my meals for a month in gratitude for this one thing. I wouldn’t mind some time alone with Laura—to perhaps discuss ideas to get her out of that house faster, before she’s ruined by Joyce and Helen.
“Do not impose yourself,” Helen scolds her.
“It would be no imposition,” I insist.
“Mother would never want you here.”
Ah, Mother, the trump card. The unobjectionable reason. Laura rises reluctantly. Our fingers are still laced together.
“Come and visit soon, yes?” Her eyes are dimmer, duller. I can hear a piece of my heart cracking at her pain. Be strong, I want to say. A little longer and you’ll be out of there, one way or another.
“For you, yes,” I say. I will go back to that house for my sister. And maybe, maybe the next time I leave I’ll take her with me, too.
“Good.” Laura throws her arms around my shoulders and gives a tight squeeze. Helen hardly looks back once as she glides out of the manor. No doubt eager to report her findings back to Joyce.
“Strange that your sisters would travel all this way only to turn around and leave,” Oren says as he serves me dinner.
“I’m glad they did. Well, one of them,” I mutter darkly. “If they ever send word that they are coming again, respond immediately that only Laura may come. Never open the gate for Helen or Joyce ever again. They aren’t welcome here.”
Oren stills, pitcher in both hands, my wine glass still empty. “It will be up to you from now on to decide who is or is not permitted in these halls.”
“What?” The strange phrasing snaps me out of my angry trance.
“Nothing.” Oren shakes his head, pours my wine glass. “Oh, the lord of the manor told me to inform you that he will not be able to meet with you this evening.” With that, Oren heads back toward the kitchen. Lord Fenwood hasn’t missed an evening drink in over a week now. This news only feeds my uneasiness.
“Oren.” I stop him. He looks at me with a pitying gaze. He feels sorry for me. Why? I have a few guesses. But I have a nagging feeling that look has nothing to do with my family. “You would tell me if there was something wrong, right?”
“Of course. But don’t worry, everything is as we intended.” He disappears.
All through dinner I replay his strange phrasings and mannerisms in my mind. Something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t, and my sisters got to me. I’m looking for excuses to find problems when there aren’t any.
I ready myself for bed, and tuck in. But sleep eludes me. I keep repeating my sisters’ words. Helen’s are cruel, certainly. And she no doubt said those things to tear me down. But that doesn’t make her wrong, either. Even Laura was concerned for me.
Should I be more worried about my situation? What if Helen is right and this freedom and comfort that I’ve found is so fragile that it can be ripped from my grasp and shattered any second? I clutch the duvet. It’s so soft…softer than anything I’ve ever owned before. I can’t give up this bed. I can’t give up my freedoms here. I won’t give up this life.
I’m on my feet. I throw a robe over my sleeping gown and leave my room. It’s a full moon tonight and the hallway is bright. I still briefly as I realize it’s been almost a month since I arrived.
Halfway to the door I begin to second-guess myself. If Lord Fenwood doesn’t want to be seen or for me to know the truth about him, then that’s his business. I should leave it be. I’m about to turn around and go back to bed when I hear multiple sets of footsteps in the main hall, thundering down the stairway, and across to the other wing of the manor.
That’s when I notice the letter that’s been slid under the door to the front hall.
Cool nausea sweeps over me as I pick up the envelope. My name is written on it in Lord Fenwood’s handwriting. I flip it over and break the seal. The letter reads like it would in my worst nightmare:
To my wife, Katria,
I have business to attend to of a dangerous sort. In the event I never return to these halls, I leave everything to you: the house, all its contents, and the tidy sum hidden underneath the floorboards of the closet adjacent to my chambers. It should be enough that you can live out the rest of your days in comfort. I bequeath it all to you, wife.
And should I never return, you are a free woman and should enjoy your life as such.
Sincerely,
Lord Fenwood
The way the letter is worded… He has no intention of returning. That much is painfully apparent.
My sisters were right. I go from cold to hot as I crumple the letter my hand. Throwing it on the ground, I grab the door handle and twist. Damn the rules. I’m getting the truth.
Chapter 8
The atrium is empty. But the door directly across from me is ajar. I’ve never seen it open before. I glance between it and the stairs that round up the tower.
I take the stairs first, two at a time. Based on the noises, either Lord Fenwood left with a group of people, or that group was here to murder him for some horrible deed he never thought was worth telling me.
I emerge onto a loft, bracing myself to see the lord, or Oren, spread out in a pool of his own blood. But the room is void of anyone else—living or dead. However, it does look as if it has been ransacked. Cabinet doors have been left open. Boxes are on the floor, contents overturned. This room was some kind of workshop. There are paints, splattering the floor and still in jars. There are herbs drying overhead. Their aromas mix with the scent of wood shavings and a metallic, sharp twang of blood that I can’t seem to find the source of. I want to spend hours slowly inspecting this personal space of Lord Fenwood’s. But there’s no time.
Back downstairs, I head through the door to the right wing. It’s the opposite setup as my quarters. Though instead of a study, there is another workroom. Nowhere do I see the copious tools a hunter would require. In fact, the only weapons I see are a few bejeweled daggers. One’s missing on a row of pegs.
He did say he hunted fae, however. Or was that a clever lie to a gullible woman he knew wouldn’t question? I slam my hands onto one of the countertops, and jars and vessels clank together as I curse under my breath. Fae hunter? I should’ve known better than to think such a thing was real.
My sisters were right and I abhor it. I don’t know anything about this man. But I will before dawn, I vow to myself.
At the end of the hallway, unlike mine, there’s a final door. It leads to a set of stone stairs that wind down into the darkness. A rush of cool air from those mysterious depths reminds me that I’m still just in a robe and nightgown. I shift my weight from foot to foot with restless energy, debating what to do next. Wherever the lord has gone, and whomever he’s gone with, whoever might have taken him, they can’t be too far ahead. But I’ve already wasted time looking through the various rooms. If I go back and change, I’ll lose them for sure.
I let out a string of curses and rush back into one of the studies to gather a lantern that I light using a nearby tinderbox. Drawing my robe tighter around me, I stand once more on the precipice of the stairs. I give myself a slow count of ten to find every scrap of bravery I have ever possessed then start downward.
The spiral stairway wraps in on itself two, four, twelve times. At the bottom is a long tunnel, cold and damp. My light stretches only a few steps ahead of me. I feel the darkness as though it were a living monstrosity, whispering threats from the unknown. My hand shakes slightly, rattling the lantern. The flame inside flickers. I grab my wrist with my other hand and hold it steady. The last thing I want is for my only light to go out.
The tunnel looks like one of the oldest parts of the castle, based on the stone and mortar, but at no point am I nervous about my safety within it. There are fresh support beams across the ceiling. Someone has been ke
eping up this ancient passageway. The question is why.
In the distance, a silvery archway is illuminated by moonlight—a way out. As I approach, I can hear voices drifting through the woods. I slow my pace and set down my lantern. The passage has slowly sloped upward, so the floor is no longer puddled with water. I notice several sets of footprints. I can’t tell how many people came ahead of me because it would be impossible to walk this passageway any way but single file.
But there are enough wet footprints that I’m worried, because I’m definitely outnumbered.
I should turn back. I know I should. But now curiosity has its hold on me and keeps pushing me forward. I came hunting for the truth. I won’t leave until I have it.
The tunnel drops me out into the forest. I shiver, though I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the immediate feeling of being exposed. Every shadowy tree looks down on me with anticipation, pale moonlight winking like a thousand-eyed beast in the canopy overhead.
Voices prevent me from cowering back into the tunnel and running for the safety of the manor. There’s a worn stone pathway that winds through the trees, fighting against the forest undergrowth. The voices are coming from the direction the walkway leads. I follow along on the edge of the path and soon see orange flickering. I crouch low and move with as much stealth as I can muster, getting close enough that I can make out every word the people are saying, but I don’t understand any of them. They speak in a strange tongue I don’t recognize.
Have these people taken Lord Fenwood? Or, are they his accomplices? His letter sounded like he knew he would do something tonight that would get him killed. That’s what keeps pushing me forward. I need the truth from this man, just once.
I come up against a tree and place my back to it. The people are chanting now. I can see shadowy outlines of them dancing in the firelight. I sink onto the blanket of pine needles that cover the forest floor. Crawling as slowly as possible, I creep up to the top of a small ridge.
